


you don't have to be gentle with me

by smokingbomber



Series: Shitennou Smut [7]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Biting, Choking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masochism, Old Married Couple, Porn With Powers, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Superpower Sex, being the porn you want to see in the world, no beta we die like prince endymion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28643640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingbomber/pseuds/smokingbomber
Summary: It was life, and he sipped life from his prince's kiss-- and Mamoru bit his lip deliberately, then healed it in another tiny flood, and when he took his mouth away Kal could still taste the coppery tang of his own blood.Art fic which turns into art porn then into WOAH GUYS HA HA. prompter is Adrianna Sharp, prompt is mamoru/kunzite "you don't have to be gentle with me, I don't break easily"
Relationships: Chiba Mamoru/Kunzite
Series: Shitennou Smut [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092203
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: Kunzite and Endymion Fics (/ and &)





	you don't have to be gentle with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdriannaSharp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdriannaSharp/gifts).



"You don't have to be gentle with me, I don't break easily," laughed the young Crown Prince of Earth, dancing back a light three steps as Jadeite, Nephrite, and Zoisite all made various wincing-in-advance "oooooh" sounds against the wall behind him.

"I respectfully disagree, my Prince," the teenager across from him said, his white hair tied back, his face showing the barest hint of exasperation. Kunzite took up his position again, his mouth a flat line before he added, "Just because you can heal it doesn't mean you don't break."

\---

The Crown Prince of the entire planet they were fighting to protect-- the Prince they were trying to protect-- he wept silently as he fought to keep Kunzite from the capital city's wall. Kunzite knew he knew they were going after the Moon next -- and Endymion knew why. He knew why! They'd argued about it, but Beryl had given them proof, and Endymion was too enthralled to listen, and the cities were a necessary sacrifice to provide the power to teleport the troops into the heavens.

It was too late to stop them. It was maddening that his Prince still tried. In the middle of the heady bloodlust of the battling around them, though, he was proud of Endymion for holding his own. With the power Beryl had granted them, he'd make sure his prince would live, and he'd be sure to see his student surpass him. Once they god rid of the threat the Moon posed, everything would be all right. 

And yet the prince wept as he fought, and his voice was raw and rough as he cried out in time with his next blow, "I don't _want_ to fight you, but you're burning our cities, killing our planet! It's not the Moon hurting us, it's that witch and the-- the spell she has you under-- you don't have to be gentle with me, don't spare my feelings! Tell me what I did to deserve this! Please, Kunzite-- please!"

He was wrong. He was wrong, but they could still save him. "We talked about this already," Kunzite told him, parrying or blocking most of Endymion's moves, now and then cutting into him; that was all right, he'd heal. "As I recall, you shouted. So: you know what you did. And you know, Prince, that I do not break easily--"

\---

"You don't have to be gentle with me," gasped Tuxedo Kamen, hanging off the rooftop by his fingertips. He eyed Kunzite watching him impassively and glancing at those fingertips; it looked like the Dark General was considering stepping on them. "I don't break easily," he warned through his teeth.

Then he let go.

Kunzite kept watching, mind churning behind a nearly expressionless face, as the teenager fell and rebounded impossibly off a flagpole below. It didn't break, and neither did the boy when he landed on his feet on the sidewalk afterwards. He didn't give chase as Tuxedo Kamen ran off, dress shoes tapping against the wet pavement.

\---

"You don't," said the tuxedo-clad Prince Endymion, the Strongest Soldier of the Dark Kingdom, "have to be gentle with me." The voice wasn't a sneer, there wasn't enough personality left behind it to be anything but vaguely amused. "I don't break easily."

Kunzite's stomach knotted; he felt sick. All he could think was _no, my Prince, it wasn't easily at all, if this obscenity even counts. Would that I could say the same of us--_

"Again," repeated the red-eyed thing he felt was only wearing Endymion's skin, and Kunzite took a breath and did his best to hurt the precious body housing the wrong mind. He hated himself more with every passing second.

\---

"You don't have to be gentle with--" whispered the ghost from the pale pink gem, as Mamoru held it carefully and coughed black blood into his other hand.

"Don't--" croaked Mamoru, slumping against the side of his bed onto the floor. "Don't you--" He coughed again, and the fit was longer. After that and a few shallow breaths, he whispered, "Dare. Don't. You break. You broke. You're-- dead. I can't-- even-- fix-- my-- self--"

"Prince," Kunzite's spectre said, faint and hovering, voice helpless. "Endymion. Please. Let us give you the strength we have left. Please." But the young man was coughing again. " _Mamoru..._ "

\---

Neither of them spoke. It was the first night the Shitennou were back, not quite _jammed_ in Mamoru's previously unnecessarily large apartment, and mostly in bed after a long day and longer evening of conversations and discussions and planning and explanations and probably-temporary fake paperwork.

They sat on the couch, the television's volume off, some sort of static menu presented on its screen in front of them. It wasn't an awkward silence, but it wasn't entirely comfortable--

\--not until Mamoru gave in and slouched into the cushions and the well Kunzite's weight was creating next to him, and put his own exhausted head on his resurrected First's shoulder. His breathing was familiar, his weight was familiar, his warmth was something Kunzite had craved this entire lifetime without knowing what it was... until he thought it was too late.

Even as a ghost, he'd been ashamed, had fought to do anything that could begin to make up for his betrayals. Mamoru forgave them so easily. Mamoru sought their advice, he gave them energy to maintain their cohesion and coherence after those times they thought they'd given their last for him, he loved them. Oh how he loved them. None of them understood it, none of them felt they deserved it, but it was what fueled them.

They remembered their relationships with the Senshi, but it was Endymion they'd been sworn to, Endymion they'd loved and protected for so long, Endymion they thought they would give their lives to keep safe. 

It was Mamoru, damaged from his life before Usagi, damaged almost every time he fought, damaged from the times he was a liability to the girls who protected his planet, damaged from what so many had done in taking away his agency, taking away his mind, taking away his body-- it was Mamoru they owed, Mamoru they needed, and miraculously, Mamoru who needed _them_.

The warm scent of the future king hung in the air, chocolate and coffee and roses, sweat and shampoo and laundry soap, the curry they'd made for dinner. He was still and quiet, his energy a golden impossibility that Kunzite could feel, could see, could touch if he wanted-- but wouldn't. Not without permission, and that was something for which he would not ask.

Mamoru's breathing slowed, and Kunzite marveled. Everything they'd done, and his Prince was still automatically comfortable enough to just fall asleep right there, leaning on him. And he'd said he had trouble sleeping. 

He couldn't imagine being anything _but_ gentle with Mamoru. Kunzite owed everything to him, to the man who'd died three times, twice because of him, and once in a moment of horror even greater than Endymion's fate on the Moon. 

Kunzite would give him anything and everything he needed to heal, to heal his lonely and traumatic childhood, to heal the abuses heaped on him by nearly every evil the Senshi had fought, to heal his sense of self-- anything he needed.

Gentle. He had to be gentle.

\---

"You can't hurt me like this! Don't worry! I just-- I want you to _try_ , please, Kal--" spilled Mamoru's words frantically as he squirmed, pulling at his guardian knight, trying to make him move faster, rougher. Then he was begging, inciting, pushing-- " _Please, Kunzite,_ fuck me through the fucking mattress, I'm not _glass_ \--" He dug his blunt nails, his fingertips, into the bigger man's shoulders and hauled himself up. "You don't have to be gentle with me!" he bit out in hopeless frustration, then bit Kal's shoulder hard enough to draw blood. 

Kal stilled above him, then pushed Mamoru down and held him there with one hand as he straightened up, bleeding on him, bleeding on the sheets. His grey eyes were a wild storm, and his face was expressionless until it bloomed into a snarl, like slow-pumping blood in the water. "You don't know what you're asking!" Kunzite tried to shout, but he couldn't make himself, and it came out a ragged and breaking thing, and-- 

Mamoru could feel the way the fury veered sharply into despair and wretchedness, and how like the fury, it was threaded throughout Kal's body to his fingertips, through his mind into all the little cracks and scabs and scars. He stopped fighting instantly. He was confused: he'd felt the physical rage before, not pointed at him in any way, but barely reined in, and wanting to hurt things, to break and smash things. It stole the prince's breath away, and oh he hoped, maybe-- maybe it could be a relief for the things he couldn't talk about, couldn't ask Usagi for, couldn't ask _anyone else_ for. He'd asked Kal earlier if Kal would be rougher tonight, and his mistake had been using the request as a flirt, laughing, instead of sounding serious-- because Kal didn't take it seriously, and this had clearly surprised him. Surprised him badly enough to hurt him.

It'd long since been all right-- it'd been years since Usagi and Mamoru combined their powers to bring the Shitennou back, and they and the other Senshi had come to a range of different arrangements, no one yet freely saying 'polyamory', but most of them thinking it. There weren't enough certainties, but the one that counted the most, that was the most firmly entrenched, was the determined love. 

It was that love that was tangled in both of them now, and Mamoru's confusion was a sharp but swift thing, over nearly as quickly as it began, because it had no place here. The prince lifted his hands and ran them up Kunzite's arms. He projected stillness and a calm quiet pause before he even said anything, and he let Kunzite feel how safe he felt, held down underneath the man.

"I'm sorry. Can you show me?" asked the prince, one of his hands traveling further up, as close as he could reach to the wound he made on Kunzite's shoulder. There was a dim golden glow, warming Kal throughout and taking the pain away as the injury healed. 

For a long moment, Kunzite couldn't look at him. He lifted his hand from Mamoru's chest and shifted, gently moving the prince's legs and choking down the feelings that would overwhelm them both, no matter that Mamoru had told him over and over that he didn't _want_ him to, that if Kunzite could handle him then he could handle Kunzite. 

Mamoru didn't interrupt. He was patient. His potential relief would _never_ be worth his Kal's health; it was shelved wholly by reflex.

And then the images trickled in. Kunzite-- he remembered more than anyone else did. More of their lives before the Fall, more of the Fall itself, more of what they'd done in the Dark Kingdom. Time after time, a theme that began as a joke and hurt them worse and worse over years, over lifetimes. And all the times he'd hurt Endymion, or been unable to ease his pain-- and the last time Endymion had told Kunzite to try to hurt him--

The only things Mamoru remembered out of all of it, he didn't remember saying the words before. He didn't remember, but he saw them clear as day in Kunzite's mind's eye.

It weighed so heavily on Kunzite, and it hurt him like a jagged stab to the heart to think of all the times Endymion, Mamoru, had lain broken or bloody on the ground or in his arms. The idea of causing it directly, with his hands, with his rage? He wanted to give Mamoru anything he needed to heal, and he could tell this was one of those things, that there was something that needed to re-break before it could heal-- and he felt crippling shame over the fact that he didn't want to do it, that he felt sick at the idea. But the cold dread mixed with the shame, and he thought he could try--

"No," whispered Mamoru, "Don't. I didn't know. We can talk about it later." The whisper rose to a murmur, and the prince touched Kunzite's lips, his jaw. "Right now, take care of me." The meaning came through much more clearly through the touch, through that golden warmth that Kal held onto with the claws of his soul: do what you need to feel safe. Do what you need to know that I'm safe. None of this is any good if we aren't both happy, if we aren't both comfortable, if we don't _both feel safe._

Kal's shoulders eased, and he reached forward to brush Mamoru's hair from his face.

Gentle. He was so gentle with his prince, and he couldn't spare the emotional energy it took to speak, but he didn't need to yet, so he didn't. When they fell asleep, Mamoru was the one holding _him._

\---

Two hundred years looked like a very long time from the beginning of it. It felt like a very long time from the end of it. It would, Mamoru was certain, feel like the halcyon days of their youth, once they were all over a millennium old. Right now, though, he smiled a little crookedly, because they were definitely old enough to know better.

The Prince of Earth -- and he'd be Prince until Usagi gave up being Sailor Moon, damn it -- dragged his gloved fingertips across the back of Kal's neck, pulling the long white hair along, then letting it fall back against the man's powerful shoulders. He leaned in just close enough for the warmth of his skin to touch the warmth of Kal's, but didn't actually _touch_. His breath skimmed across it; he watched goosebumps rise, but Kal was perfectly still.

Well. Not perfectly; there was, of course, involuntary movement. Mamoru opened his mouth and grazed Kunzite's skin with his teeth, at the base of his neck where it joined his shoulder-- and the full-body shiver that resulted was delightful. 

As he came around Kunzite's front, he lifted his hand and brushed his gloved fingers down Kunzite's scarred and muscular chest, down, down. He stopped just below the navel, then asked mildly, "Still gloves? Or you want me to just do a better job of shielding?"

Kal didn't need to be able to see to purse his lips, and Mamoru laughed. "Sorry," he said, bringing the hand back up to brush lightly over Kal's nipples, one after the other, "that expression looks really funny when you're wearing the blindfold."

Despite the sharp intake of breath at the reminder that his nipples existed, Kal managed to sound dry. "I'm sure." Then he answered thoughtfully, "Still gloves for now, unless you're tired of them. You still have to concentrate to shield, and if you leave the gloves on, you're not careful about it and I can tell where you are."

"That's... fair, despite how remarkably unfair it is," said Mamoru, making a face he knew Kunzite couldn't see, but could definitely hear. "This was supposed to be about your patience, but I may have miscalculated. In fact," he said, putting both his hands against Kunzite's chest and leaning in, just to talk against his skin without touching it, "this must be your secret plan to make me lose my mind, because I can't tell what you're thinking. Let's see if I can't do something about that." He stepped away again, and Kunzite was starting to have trouble tracking where he was in the room.

"Ooh," came Mamoru's voice again, surprised and pleased, but absolutely outside Kal's head instead of living inside it rent-free, like it was supposed to. "You're frowning. That means it's working. Good! I want you to know it's me touching you," and Kal felt gloved hands on him again, this time sliding down his sides, pausing at the dimples just between his hips and ass, "but only because you can hear me, and because no one else-- not even Sander, not even Minako-- knows your body as well as I do."

Kal sucked in a breath and held it; his blood ran cold, then hot, because _he couldn't feel Endymion_ but Mamoru was _right_. Mamoru had healed him so many times, had patched him back together from basically hamburger meat, and he knew Kal's body down to almost the cellular level-- and there was a gloved finger tracing a scar he still didn't remember getting. It led dangerously close to his belly, and he knew Mamoru hated it because of that. He heard his prince's voice again, and let his breath out. 

"If it had been just a little closer, or just a little deeper," Mamoru said the way he always said it, with a tight little fear in the back of his voice.

Kal shook his head. "It wasn't," he said the same way he always said it, with reassurance and affection. Then he heard a soft sliding sound, and the even softer sound of cloth dropping to the floor, but it was too far away. Was someone else here? Or--

The line of thought stopped abruptly, since bare fingertips touched his lips, and there was a flash flood of golden healing warmth, of the sense of connection to Mamoru, to the Earth, to the other Shitennou, to the Princess and the other Senshi-- to every living thing, to every story, to every mountain and glade and stream and ocean, to the tall buildings in this city and every city and all the people in them--

\--and the overwhelming volume of his prince's love, which slammed into him like a tsunami and left him gasping when it cut off just as abruptly. Mamoru had taken his hand away, and Kunzite was alone in his body and mind, and his skin was too sensitive and his mind was too raw and he _understood_ why Mamoru took this route. He was breathing hard, and trying to see through the blackout cloth, and it wasn't going to happen. 

"Where--" he started before he could help himself, and then there was a gloved hand gently stroking his shaft, which was definitely hard, but not throbbing, not near desperate. And then the glove closed around it, and he felt a hint of the shine of Mamoru's power ghost across him as Mamoru's other hand slid up over his shoulder and in back of his neck, and knotted itself up in his hair. He was breathing carefully now, and the gloved hand tightened a little on his cock and Mamoru's mouth closed on his.

It was a flood again, but only briefly, because he knew now that the deprivation made it a shock when reestablished. It was still-- it was still everything that was good about the world, though. It was still what he'd burned the world to try and save, it was still what had been missing in this life, it was still what it was so easy to _fall_ without. It was life, and he sipped life from his prince's kiss-- and Mamoru bit his lip deliberately, then healed it in another tiny flood, and when he took his mouth away Kal could still taste the coppery tang of his own blood.

Definitely throbbing now.

"Ooh, fuck, that gets you even faster than it does when you can see me," marveled Mamoru, and tugged lightly at Kal's hair, pulling his head back. He kissed Kal's throat, tasted it; he paused and let go of Kal's cock for a second. When he took it again, it was his bare hand, and he did delicate work a lot better with no gloves on. One fingertip played with the slit at the tip, and the rest of his hand encircled it lightly while Mamoru went back to exploring Kal's neck with his mouth. Now and then he'd let slip a wisp of temptation in gold, and Kunzite kept himself from chasing it with his own power.

Every time, he could feel his prince's god-damned beautiful perfect mouth smirking against his skin. Finally Mamoru did it again, then let go and stepped back again, saying in a very low voice, "You could, you know. All you have to do is admit you lost, and then you can take me. Devour my energy, devour _me_ \-- take me against the wall, or over my own desk, or against the bath tiles-- come inside me, Kal, wherever you want. Mark me. Wreck me. Fuck me right through the mattress, and I'll fight you back, and heal us both over and over until we both get it all out of our system."

 _Mamoru's mouth._ His words could get Kal painfully close to coming just as easily as his tongue and fascinating lack of a gag reflex. His dick might be the great betrayer of how turned on he was, but he managed to give Mamoru only the slightest of smiles. "Work a little harder, my Prince," he said, and the words were a challenge, defiant and pleased, and the edge of wild was in them.

And that's when _Mamoru's mouth_ \--

Oh _fuck_ \--

Oh, did Kal ever want to _see_ ; he knew Mamoru was on his knees in front of him because his mouth, hot and wet and familiar, was wrapped around the head of his cock. He could see this in his mind's eye, but he wanted to _look_ at him, and-- and no that wasn't fair at all, Mamoru was taking him altogether too slowly into his mouth, deeper and deeper, into the back of his throat, then moving to straighten his neck a little more and take him deeper, down his throat, and Kal's hips twitched forward the slightest bit, and Mamoru pulled away, pulled off, coughed slightly.

Kal could feel the cooled saliva beading back up to the tip of his cock when the thread broke between it and his prince's mouth, and he did everything he could to stifle his expression. 

Mamoru's voice was up close next to his ear, then, a low and quiet liquid thing, like honey whiskey. "Was that a concession, Kunzite?" Kal couldn't help the swift, sharp shiver, and the way it raced to his fingertips, to his nipples, to his cock. He barely breathed; when he breathed in, all he could smell was Mamoru and his own arousal. All he wanted was--

He wanted to win; he wanted to indulge his prince and his game. At the same time, he wanted to indulge his prince by breaking down, and he wanted to fuck his prince right through the floor into the building's lobby, basically. He wanted--

His head tilted to the side, moved, moved just enough to touch Mamoru's head with it, to make contact, to link them if Mamoru let his walls down. He wanted Mamoru, that was all.

"Endymion," he said, his voice low too-- but lower, rough, like sand and stone, "you know I break easily, if you want me to. Do you want me to?" He chased the feel of Mamoru's skin, of his prince's cheek against his cheek; Mamoru stayed where he was, and let Kal nuzzle the side of his face, just under his jaw, by his ear, kiss his neck. He murmured against Mamoru's skin, now, as the shorter man's hands slid around his waist, "Do you want me to take your energy where you stand, my Prince? Then break the restraints, or at least pop the latches -- I don't see why you don't get real handcuffs -- and rip this maddening blindfold off, and shred your clothes, and take you against the door, perhaps? Do you want a thorough ravishing, like you're the dramatic star of one of Makoto's novels?"

"I hate you a little bit right now," Mamoru murmured back, then took Kal's earlobe between his teeth and gently tugged it, then kissed the side of his neck and let out a tiny, short little sigh. "But yes. I want you to ravish the fuck out of me. You win. This was fun but only for about this long."

The hands left Kal's waist, but it was only because Mamoru was reaching up and taking off Kal's blindfold, then popping his restraints. Blinking in the light, Kal took in the fact that Mamoru was, in fact, still in henshin. He even still had the cape on.

"What?" asked Mamoru defensively.

"I didn't say anything," said Kal mildly, rubbing his wrists and rolling his shoulders.

"You gave me a dubious look!"

"You're still transformed."

"So? You're still hard! You gonna do something about it or do I have to do all the work aroundmph--"

Mamoru was grinning behind the sudden kiss, but he stopped because he was too busy kissing back. Then he was getting backed against the wall, and one of Kal's hands grabbed both of his and slammed them against the wall over his head. Abruptly Mamoru's knees began a debate about whether or not to withdraw their support, and his psychic walls shattered, flooding Kal with everything he was feeling and how very much in love he was--

The prince let out a shuddering breath as Kunzite's mouth refocused its attention on _his_ neck. He sucked it in again when Kunzite's _other_ hand came up and ripped off his neck badge, then tore open the front of his dress shirt, yanking the fabric down and away, out from underneath the hand-tie white silk bow around his neck.

The metal Hospitaller cross clanked when it hit the floor, then skidded back when Kal kicked it out of the range of slipping on it. He let Mamoru's hands go in order to roughly tear open the rest of the shirt, then yank it down off Mamoru's body along with the tailcoat. Mamoru's hands scrabbled desperately for his fly, a high and breathless delight coursing through him and making his hands shake from the adrenaline rush, and Kunzite snarled and shoved him back against the wall again with a shoulder to the chest. 

Like an iron bar, Kunzite kept his arm across Mamoru's chest and leaned on it, and broke the fly on the offending trousers and ripped them partly off-- then grabbed his prince's throat and slid him up the wall one handed to take the trousers the rest of the way off. 

Mamoru was so fucking turned on he almost forgot to stoke Kunzite's frenzy by struggling, and then abruptly couldn't because of the sharp cold fierce _specific_ pain of his guardian's energy drain, which made him lock up and get painfully hard extraordinarily fast -- fast enough, combined with the hand around his neck, to make him lightheaded. He swam in the sensations, drinking in Kal's _letting go_ for him--

 _my monster,_ he thought, the words ringing through Kal's head like the end of a dream, drifting through the heady strength of the prince's golden power, sweet like honey and brutal like the sun as it surged into Kunzite. _my beautiful monster--_

It let up and Mamoru could move and breathe again, and he found that Kal was in the process of turning him around, holding his arms behind his back and still pushing him, propping him against the wall. He was careless and rushed with the lube, squeezing the cold gel between Mamoru's asscheeks and then dropping the tube to smear the gob down the crack and into the prince's hole. 

Kunzite pushed his middle finger in unceremoniously, hooking it and twisting it as Mamoru gasped and followed the motion, up on his toes. Mamoru let his head thunk forward onto the wall as he bit his lip, and then the finger was out and the prince took a couple of quick, shallow breaths, bursting with blinding anticipation.

Of course Mamoru wasn't disappointed; Kal wouldn't disappoint him-- he felt the head of Kunzite's cock pressing against his tight hole for a second before popping in with a little burn, and then an inexorable pressure as Kunzite kept pushing. He was _big_ , and his girth kept stretching Mamoru's asshole as he pushed it in inch by inch, filling his prince with his cock, pulling down on Mamoru's crossed and captured arms and making him arch his back with his own erection pressed against the wall. 

Mamoru's breath was tight and shallow and he reveled in the pain-- the pain that wouldn't kill him, the pain that was safe because it would stop the instant he didn't like or want it, that was safe because it would stop when he didn't have words anymore, that was safe because of the protective love behind it-- pain unlike any he'd faced in his career fighting alongside the other senshi, pain very unlike any visited upon him without consent or desire. 

Kal could feel every reaction Mamoru had, and Mamoru could feel everything Kal was feeling about it, and it had been _that_ which finally convinced Kal so many years ago to _try_ \-- and it proved to be the best possible release for both of them, the love and trust and honesty raw and palpable every time, no matter which of them was taking the pain and which was dealing it. At different times, Usagi and Zoisite and Minako had all looked in on this-- had been welcome-- had decided against it. It took Usagi a little while to understand that it wasn't either of them doing something unhealthy for themselves or the other, but Mamoru being able to show her, in their heads together, really helped. 

Right now, though? Right now was Kal ramming the rest of his length into Mamoru's ass, balls-deep, then letting go his arms so he could grab his prince's hip with one hand, and grab his shoulder with the other, and just start pounding him relentlessly. It was raw and rough and wild, and the back of Mamoru's mind urged Kunzite to go harder even after Kal's hand moved from his shoulder to his throat and squeezed, keeping him from using words aloud, restricting his breath. And he kept thrusting, then pulled out and picked Mamoru up and flung him facedown on the bed.

One hand trailed down the gasping prince's spine, demanding wordlessly that Mamoru take a couple of seconds. Mamoru answered it, panting, by rolling his already-bruised and marked body over on the sheets with a wild light in his eyes, then pushing himself up on his elbows, and further, and grinning and starting to edge away back on the bed, touching Kal's knee with his foot on the way. "Make me," he croaked, and he was still grinning and the angry red marks from Kunzite's hand on his throat were already turning to livid bruises.

Kal's breath caught. His prince was so beautiful. He couldn't move for a second, just looking at him-- and then the backward motion finally tripped his instincts and it was with a dark delight that he surged forward and shoved Mamoru down, flipping him again, then bending his body into position to take Kunzite's dick again. He held him there as he lined himself up once more, then held him down and pinned him there, bracing against his prince instead of the bed as he drove in again with tremendous ferocity and the possessiveness Mamoru not only encouraged in bed, but demanded.

 _Mine,_ Kunzite's mind sent straight down Mamoru's spinal cord and back up it in a shock of force, and over and over again, _my prince, my liege, my love, my savior-- MY prince, MINE--_

He made it last as long as he could, and Mamoru teased whenever he had the breath or the presence of mind to-- squirming, wriggling, attempting mock-escape to get Kal to wrench him back into place-- and when Mamoru deliberately went pliant beneath him, Kunzite finally spilled his load deep inside, back arched, roaring his release.

The silence was warm after that, and Kal's mind was warm too, unfocused, trying to keep Mamoru's needs in mind as he fought to get his breath back-- and what he could think of right then were two warring things. First, his prince still hadn't been seen to, and second, his prince would not want him to pull out while they were on the bed, not right now-- and he let his prince give the orders. 

"Breath-catching first," murmured Mamoru, staying carefully in place, "and when you're good, pull out but then blow me so I don't think about the mess until we can both walk to the bath." A beat. "Blow me _and_ take my energy again, it's too fucking hot in here."

**Author's Note:**

> he is still wearing the fucking bowtie


End file.
